We had a return trip to Barmouth today, with a plan to cross the estuary using the small ferry boat, explore the dunes on the far side, catch the Fairbourne steam train into Fairbourne village, and then the mainline train for one stop, before walking across the railway bridge that we had walked across during our visit a couple of days ago. Quite a detailed plan for us. We had to be quite organised to be at the right stations at the right times for each train.
We set off reasonably early, and caught the ferry as planned, leaving plenty of time to be back in Barmouth for lunch. We had a little trouble to persuade the dogs onto the ferry
and even more trouble persuading them to alight onto the beach on the far side via a very narrow gang plank. Safely on the beach, we asked the ferry man to direct us to the steam train station. “No steam trains today!” he said. “They don’t run on Fridays”. We knew that a footpath going directly from the dunes to the rail bridge over the estuary was closed, leaving quite a long walk along the coastline into Fairbourne, which at least was quite pleasant, with the sea on one side and the estuary on the other.
We wanted to catch the train back to Barmouth, with option of getting off and walking across the bridge, and arrived at the station in plenty of time. In fact we had an hour to spare. I am sure that the residents of Fairbourne love the place, but to be honest it boasts little of interest. If you are an aficionado of bungalows, then Fairbourne is your kind of place, and of course on every day except Mondays and Fridays it is the perfect place to admire the local miniature steam train. The only other places of interest were a launderette, the local shop, and a chippy. Chantal tentatively pointed out that the chippy offered all day breakfasts, and maybe we could partake of one while waiting. I pointed out that this was not the sort of luncheon that I had in mind.
We sat opposite the launderette and chippy, outside the station, with the roar of a dustbin lorry emptying the bins along the street, and the piercing screeching of a road sweeper repeatedly touring the area, cleaning up after the passing lorries that were passing on the way to the flood defence works that had closed the path between the dunes and bridge, and ate some cakes, purchased from the local shop, while debating what to do. While Chantal was shopping, I sat outside with the dogs, browsing Google maps on my phone, and ascertained that a walk to Barmouth would take 31 minutes. Chantal had coincidentally ascertained the same information from the lady in the shop, and so we decided to walk rather than wait for the train.
It was a challenging walk with the two dogs, along a winding and quite busy and fast road, with occasional stops on blind bends, pushing the dogs close against the roadside wall while HGVs roared past. It was not pleasant, and we were glad when we reached the quieter lane that led off to the small railway station at the start of the bridge.
Chantal had had quite enough, and so since we arrived at the station a few minutes before the train that we had planned to catch at Fairbourne, we decided to travel the rest of the way in comfort. We waved the train down (it was a very small rural station), and got on. As the train headed for the estuary we realised that we would still have had quite a long walk to the bridge, even though it would have been on a footpath, rather than a road. Tickets were to be purchased on the train, and the ticket collector arrived as we were crossing the bridge. He kindly decided that we would be at the station before he could issue the tickets, and so we had a free ride.
We had a minor panic in Barmouth. The train pulled up, and not only would the doors not open, but also there was no platform against our carriage. We realised that maybe we had to get off from another carriage, when the train pulled away again, and I had visions of us heading for Harlech, and having to wait several hours for a train back, and so we were relieved when we realised that the train had merely pulled up briefly outside of the station, as it stopped again, this time at the platform.
The rest of the day was uneventful. Having eaten cake at Fairbourne, we weren’t really hungry, and so just had a cup of tea at a harbour side café, opting instead to head back to the cottage, and eat at the local pub. This time, unlike on our previous visit a couple of weeks before, Chantal had her driving specs, and agreed to negotiate the narrow lane back to the cottage. Consequently I was able to properly enjoy the local unpronounceable welsh beer.
Technically we live in Oaktree House, but sadly the tree had to go.
We now have a thriving Oakstump at the front of the house.
